


The Ways That Matter

by Twisted_Mind



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: BDSM Scene, Bondage, Drabble Sequence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M, Male Slash, Mild Language, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Alternating, Past Torture, Romance, Stream of Consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-02-06 23:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1876467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twisted_Mind/pseuds/Twisted_Mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a thousand different ways to mark someone, and none of them mean the same thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ways That Matter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostxWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostxWriter/gifts).



> Originally posted May 7th 2014 at HP Fandom. 
> 
> I do not own. No, really! Though, I must say I'm flattered that you think I'm that incredibly famous author-lady . . .

Severus took a deep breath, held it in as long as he could, and released it silently. It did little to alleviate the panic creeping up his throat. He repeated the process, hoping it would work the second time where it had first failed.   
  
Just as he was about to react outwardly—his battle to be stoic deplorably lost—a familiar hand trailed down his back. “It’s just us here—just you, me, and our plan for tonight. No surprises, no audience, no force,” a low voice said. The slow, easy way he spoke tamed the fear, and Severus settled.   
  
  
  
_I wasn’t anything like sure about this. Not when we first discussed it, not when we formally negotiated it, and certainly not now, when I’m supposed to follow through on my end of the bargain while watching the terror race up and down your spine at the thought alone.  
  
I understand that this isn’t about me. This is about something you need. From that perspective, this should be easy. I’m all for giving you what you need. It just gets so thrice damned difficult when neither of us wants it.   
  
But I’ll grit my teeth, and do what I must._   
  
  
  
Severus felt calm steal over him, felt his pulse slow and his breathing become steady. The whole time, his lover continued to speak and touch him with equal gentleness. When it was obvious that the anxiety had fully passed, those soothing touches grew firmer.   
  
A hum rumbled in Severus’s throat as capable hands kneaded the muscles in his back. Deftly, they sought out every place that was tight or tender from nape down to narrow hips. By the time he’d finished, Severus was resting easily against the bench, his hands no longer clenched in the ropes that bound him.   
  
  
  
_You’re calm now, and I’m starting to think we might actually do this. Because make no mistake—no matter how much you need it, I won’t force you if you’re not ready.  
  
Five years ago, if anyone’d told me that I would be here—be this—with you, I’d have checked them for spell damage. Even now, I still think we’re a bloody unlikely pair.   
  
I start wiping your skin with antiseptic. I know there are spells for this. I know  he didn’t use them. I also know that, sometimes, doing something the hard way—without magical shortcuts—pays greater dividends._   
  
  
  
Severus startled when he felt the wet, cold cotton against his bare skin. After a moment, his nose recognized the stinging scent of antiseptic. He shivered, then, and it had nothing to do with the cold.   
  
He breathed deeply, and felt for his lover’s magical signature. The one that was so different from his it was a wonder they shared the same name. As he touched that familiar magic—warm and slightly purple—he heard the whisper of a spell, felt magic spread across his back.   
  
Relief stole his ability to move. It was over.   
  
Then he felt the scalpel.   
  
  
  
_You expected this, on some level, to be like the last time. Even though I promised you it wouldn’t. Even though we’d discussed several possibilities. Even though we both have ample reason to hate Voldemort.  
  
I’m pulling the scalpel carefully—so, so carefully—over the design I chose. The lines that I used magic to trace over your lean back. You thought that was the mark I chose. You thought I would use magic to brand you.   
  
This way, I can touch you. Feel your heartbeat under my hands. Know it’s my skill that will mark you, not my magic._  
  
  
  
Severus gritted his teeth against the drag of the blade. It did not sting as much as it could, a fact he was hard-pressed to feel grateful for. But he could feel an abstract sort of appreciation for the graceful lines left behind.   
  
Uppermost in his mind, however, was the man carving him up so delicately—the man so close Severus could feel his body heat, though they did not touch. The man who wielded the knife with such care, with hands that did not shake, did not stutter. Who had made impossible promises, and had kept every single one.   
  
  
  
_Almost done . . . and, there. Finished.  
  
After pressing a quick kiss to your shoulder—one that leaves my lips bloody—I take a step backward, and look. It’s perfect, and perfectly you.   
  
A phoenix. For the man who literally came back from the dead. The man the Order of the Phoenix depended on. The man so intense, he burns. For him, the bird so independent it needs no other, and so loyal it will never forsake its companion.   
  
A symbol of devotion for the man who has been called traitor from every side, when he is anything but._  
  
  
  
Severus felt the kiss pressed to his shoulder and hid a smile. Even after three years, he still could not take such gestures for granted. He felt Neville step back, felt that hot gaze slide over his form.   
  
He wasn’t surprised when Neville’s hands returned to his body bursting with intent.   
  
Severus was unbound and drawn back against Neville’s broad chest. He bit back a groan at the feeling of skin-on-skin, at the drag of chest hair against the shallow cuts. He felt himself move in tandem, in perfect harmony, with the ex-Gryffindor, connected on a level deeper than words.  
  
  
  
 _I love when we’re one person with two bodies. When we’re doing this, and we’re so tangled together I can’t tell whose limb is whose._  
  
When Severus Snape—Death Eater, spy, war hero—ceases to exist. When he is replaced by closed eyes and hushed breaths, by pleasure and whispered pleas for more. When he thaws, allowing himself to hold and be held. When he lets go of the venom and sarcasm, of the hatred and hurt, the pettiness and pride, the obligations and orneriness.   
  
When I’m fucking him, the man the Wizarding world thinks it knows is left behind.  
  
  
  
The next morning when Severus stretched, he felt a tight itchiness across his back—one that said nothing had been put on the cuts, in aid or ill. He quirked a brow at his lover.   
  
“If it scars, it scars. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t,” Neville stated simply.   
  
“After all the effort . . .” Severus paused to reign in his temper. “What was the purpose then, if it wasn’t to be permanent?”   
  
Neville’s eyes were bright. “Because I’ve already marked you in all the ways that matter. You’re mine, Severus—you just had to feel the truth of that.”  
  
  



End file.
